


Multiversal Constant

by CosmicOcelot



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, M/M, Mind melds, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Tarsus IV, background relationships that you gotta squint to see, book clubs, briefly in the first couple chapters but oh boy are they are coming, discussions of consent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-23 03:00:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30048894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicOcelot/pseuds/CosmicOcelot
Summary: As far as universal constants went, Kirk thought he was batting a pretty respectable average.Constant one: Captain of the shiniest, most kickass starship in the entire fleet, with a crew of formidable badasses by his side, exploring where no one’s explored before.Check.Constant two: Epic, death-defying, soul entwining friendship that would help define him.Not so check.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, so, I said this would be back, and here it is.  
> I'm still editing and re-writing this, but I figured I'd give y'all what I have so far. Also, based on what I could find online, here are everybody's ages at the beginning of this fic (also we're going by earth years and memory alpha so, bear with me):  
> Kirk - 27  
> Spock - 30  
> Uhura - 27  
> Bones - 33  
> Sulu - 23  
> Chekov - 19

As far as universal constants went, Kirk thought he was batting a pretty respectable average.

Constant one: Captain of the shiniest, most kickass starship in the entire fleet, with a crew of formidable badasses by his side, exploring where no one’s explored before.

Check.

Constant two: Epic, death-defying, soul entwining friendship that would help define him.

Not so check.

He’d thought there’d been major process made in that department, what with the whole ‘sacrificing myself for our ship and everyone else on board (which includes you)’ and the ‘you fighting a demi-god to avenge and resurrect me’ thing – but to his surprise it hadn’t done much to establish his supposedly multiverse shattering friendship with Spock.

And he’d be lying if he said part of him didn’t suspect that Spock _‘Prime’_ hadn’t just made it up to get him to try and do the right thing. Because after he was done being dead and Bones was done poking and prodding him to make sure he didn’t suddenly start being dead again, and they had their ship and crew back with some new faces to replace the ones they lost, Spock had gone from constantly hovering in the periphery of Kirk’s vision to suddenly being nowhere to be found. Attempts to draw him into any kind of social interaction outside of the professional realm were met with rebuttals such as: _‘Captain, I have no need for sustenance at this time’,_ ‘ _Captain, I am needed in the science department and therefore cannot engage in a sparring match with you’_ , and _‘Captain, I believe re-calibrating the navigation console in order to make it 0.000234% more responsive would be a better use of my time than playing chess with you.’_

The last one had particularly stung, it was never nice to know that something less than a thousandth of a percent was worth more time than you are. But what could he have said to that? _No, Spock, don’t take care of our ship, come play with me instead._

Yeah, not happening. Kirk would like to think that since the Nero incident he was slightly less of a child and more of a Captain, and he would like very much to stay in this new role thank you ever so much. So, he was left to spend the majority of his time off bothering Bones, poking at his paperwork, and trying to come up with elaborate plans that would force Spock to _have_ to spend time with him in an off-duty capacity, before tearing himself out of said plans before he could spiral too far down the rabbit hole.

His console beeped, tearing him out of his latest such plans, and Uhura’s voice came through. _“Captain, message for you from New Vulcan_.”

He pushed the intercom button, his answering _‘Captain Voice’_ belying the skip of his heartbeat. “Patch it through to my quarters, Lieutenant.” 

A few beeps later, a familiar wrinkly face greeted him, perfectly placid, save for the warmth in his eyes.

“Jim.”

“Ambassador,” the smile was on Kirk’s face before he was aware of it, and he laced his hands behind his head and grinned cockily at his first officer from another life, “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“It occurred to me that we had not had the opportunity to conclude the chess game from our last conversation, and I hoped now would be an optimum time to remedy that.”

Kirks nodded, smile turning into a sly smirk. “So, what you’re saying is, you missed looking at my devilishly handsome face and thought our chess game would be a good excuse?” 

The corner of Spock Prime’s mouth twitched ever so slightly and Kirk struggled not to fist pump because coming from a Vulcan that was practically a laughing fit. “Vulcans do not believe in the devil, Captain.”

“Ouch, so I’m only averagely handsome to you?” Kirk clutched his chest. “The horror.”

“I assure you, Jim, as far as I am concerned there is nothing ‘ _average_ ’ about you.”

Kirk waved away the comment with a laugh, the sincerity too sharp and stinging for him to accept. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“That was how it was intended.” Spock Prime pressed a few buttons and the image of their holographic chess board appeared. “I hope that in return, you will attempt a more logical play style for the remainder of our match.”

Kirk laughed. “Not a chance, old man.”

“As I anticipated.”

Kirk’s smile was still on his face as he made the first move. “So, how are things progressing in _Kar-i-far_? And is my pronunciation any better?”

“The building process is progressing at a steady, though less than optimal pace, and as for your pronunciation, it is remarkably better than your previous attempts. Have you been practicing?”

Kirk struggled not to let himself puff up with pride. “Maybe.” _Every night._

Spock Prime’s eyebrow quirked upwards. “Indeed? In that case, it is fortunate that you may have an opportunity to practice on native speakers in the near future.”

Kirk paused, cocking his head to the side slightly. “What are you up to, old man?”

“I assume I am not mistaken in my belief that you are currently headed to Omiracron in order to negotiate their acceptance into the Federation?”

Kirk leant back, evaluating the man carefully, albeit with his smirk still firmly in place. “Isn’t it _inefficient_ to waste time asking me stuff you already know?”

“I asked the same thing of you, a lifetime ago,” Spock Prime’s eyes lost their warmth for a moment, devoured by distant memories and a lonely ache, but before Kirk could do anything other than panic at the lack of comfort he had to offer, the moment was gone, and Spock Prime was speaking again, “but you are correct, of course, so allow me to proceed to my point. I am aware that you are to lead the negotiations and I have a request of you.”

Kirk moved to corner Spock Prime’s rook. “What sort of request?”

“Omiracron is noted for their botanical expertise, and we are in dire need of plants that can produce a significant amount of nutrition in a short period of time; as such, I would request that as part of their acceptance, or as a gesture of good will, they would send some of their botanists to New Vulcan to confer with our own. And, seeing as Omiracron in not currently capable of achieving space-flight, it is only logical that you carry them to New Vulcan on the way to your next assignment.” Spock Prime concluded his request by saving his rook from Kirk’s bishop with an infuriatingly graceful move.

Kirk sighed. “You know, if you’re trying to sweet-talk me into something, the least you can do is let me win.”

“And insult your ability? I would never disparage you in such a way, Jim.” And Kirk would have been positive he meant it if not for the little crinkle at the corner of his eyes. 

Kirk scanned the board for another opening. “Seeing as the summit is tomorrow and the paper version of this hasn’t come across my desk yet, I’m assuming this is not an ‘official’ request?”

“The Federation was... reluctant to introduce anything that may distract from a favourable dillithium mining deal.” Spock Prime’s tone was even but the thinness of his lip along with the pause was enough for Kirk to know his blood is boiling just as much as his own.

Before Nero, Vulcan had been a huge supplier of dilithium, making them a powerhouse in not just the quadrant but the whole federation; a planet worthy of being desperately courted for favour. Now, with the loss of their planet, and with it the dilithium, (never mind billions of their people) the Federation was suddenly less eager to trip over themselves in order to help them.

Kirk took a deep breath, resolving to head to the gym as soon as possible so he could channel the anger into something other than punching a Federation bureaucrat. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best to get you your botanists, old man.”

“That’s all I can ask for, my friend.” Spock Prime graced him with an actual smile that made Kirk’s whole body feel warm.

And then the bastard took his bishop.

Kirk shot him a withering look, but Spock Prime just let out a soft chuckle.

They both turned their focus to the game for a while, chasing each other around the chessboard, until only a few pieces remained, and the length of each of their turns had gone from a couple seconds to several minutes.

“You look tired, my friend.” Spock Prime’s comment caught Kirk mid eye rub, leaving him with very little to counter with.

He still made an attempt though. “Just concentrating.”

Spock Prime gave him one of those looks that Kirk hated, the one that seemed to pierce right through every façade, every cocky mannerism that he threw up, right to the very core of him in a way that no one, not his mother, not Sam, not the shitty psychiatrists, had ever been able to reach.

“The nightmares continue.”

Kirk wanted to say no, that he was better now that he’d got his ship back and he knew just how far away they were from the storage facility where they locked away 73 cryogenic tubes and threw away the key. But then he would have to admit how often he checked the distance, and the way he repeated the number like a mantra to try and stop himself from throwing up. How he had to fight the urge to dig out the tainted blood slithering like a cobra through his veins, threatening to wrap around his heart and sink in venomous teeth; poisoning him from the inside out.

So, he took Spock Prime’s queen instead. “Checkmate.”

Spock Prime examined the play and nodded in agreement, before pressing a button to make the chessboard fade away. “Captain, I was wondering if you might be amenable to listening to me play the Vulcan lute for a time? I have some melodies I’ve been experimenting with for meditation purposes, and I could use the perspective of another’s ears.”

“You sure mine are pointy enough for you?” Kirk grinned, but it felt far less genuine than usual.

Spock Prime’s eyes smiled softly at him. “I assure you your ears are more than sufficient, Jim.” He nodded towards Kirk’s bed. “If you wouldn’t mind assuming a meditative position?”

Kirk rolled his eyes. “That’s a line I haven’t heard before.”

“I always endeavour to subvert expectations,” Spock Prime replied easily, waiting patiently until Kirk reluctantly pulled himself from his chair, tossing off his black undershirt and pants before sliding underneath the blankets and switching the viewscreen to the one next to his bed.

Kirk shot Spock Prime a baleful look from his pillow, but it didn’t hold any heat, and waved his hand in a hurrying motion. “Alright, hit me with your music, maestro.”

“Captain, it is not possible for these sound waves to exert physical force on your body in a way that would manifest as an – ”

“I know you know what I mean, old man.”

“I merely wanted to assure you that you are in no physical danger from the – ”  
  
“ _Spock_ , please; play your fancy harp for me,”

“As you wish, Jim.”

If Kirk had to attribute a visual to the music that flowed through the audio channels, he would have said it was like honey drizzling into warm tea on a lazy summer afternoon. The tones were soft and soothing, the kind in most mothers’ voices as they sung lullabies to their children; warm and full of a love that can never be exhausted.

His eyes slowly drooped more and more despite himself, as sleep pulled him further and further down into its lulling embrace. Just before it took him completely, he heard a rough yet soft voice murmur, almost as if into his ear,  
  
_“Pastaklan vesla, T’hy’la; pash tah.”_

But he was asleep before he could wonder at the meaning.

* * *

“Captain?”

Kirk jumped a bit in his command chair, cursing himself out internally for the slip up, and turned towards where his first officer was standing, right eyebrow arched to high heaven. “Yes, Commander?”

Spock’s gaze didn’t waver, though thankfully his eyebrow lowered slightly. “We are approaching Omiracron, Captain; permission to gather and debrief the diplomatic team in the transporter bay?”

“Of course, permission granted, Spock.” Kirk nodded at him and turned his head back to his PADD, focusing his attention on pretending to read and not blushing like a goddamn teenager over the fact that he had spent last night being lulled to sleep with a lullaby by his first officer’s double. There had to be some regulation against that, and if anyone could find it, it would be Spock.

Spock didn’t move though, and after a moment more of Kirk pretending to read, he spoke again. “Captain, _you_ are part of the diplomatic team.”

Kirk’s battle for composure went down in warm, red, flames.

“Right, sorry, Spock; mind’s all over the place today.” He handed his PADD over to a yeoman and jumped out of his chair, patting Sulu on the shoulder before heading towards the turbolift doors; Spock a footstep behind him. “Mr. Sulu, you have the con, try to keep her in orbit while we’re away.”

“No promises, Captain.” Sulu called cheerfully after them.

“Transport Deck” The turbolift closed with a swish behind them and Kirk leaned against the far wall and sighed; closing his eyes and letting the tension and fatigue pull down his body for one last time before he tucked it all inside for the next week.

“Are you well, Captain?”

“Mm?” Kirk rubbed a hand over his face but didn’t open his eyes. “Fine, Spock, just a little tired; and, let’s face it, we both know diplomatic missions aren’t exactly a cakewalk.”

“Perhaps Dr. McCoy could provide you with something to alleviate your fatigue?” Before Kirk could open his mouth and begin to articulate just how well asking Bones for a sedative or a stimulant would go over, Spock continued. “As these negotiations are a top priority for the Federation and Star Fleet, it is logical that all members of the diplomatic team be functioning at their highest capacity in order to insure the best possible result.”

Kirk bristled, keeping his arms crossed tightly across his chest, from what felt like salt pushed into an old wound. “Thank you for you concern, Commander. However, I can assure you that nothing will prevent me from _functioning_ in a way that will get us the ‘best possible’ deal.”

His voice was short and sharp, and there was an entirely different heat burning in his chest now, but Spock didn’t seem to recognize this; he merely dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement.

“I am gratified to hear that, Captain.” 

“Hunky-Dory.” The turbolift came to a stop and Kirk forced his arms to his side as the doors opened, shoving down the indignation and hurt into a little box that he could unpack after this week was over. Or, preferably, never. “Let’s go make some new friends.”

Bones was waiting in the transport bay, looking as thrilled about this trip as Kirk felt, arms crossed over his chest and scowl firmly etched into his stony face. In the corner, Uhura and Scotty were whispering fiercely to one another. Kirk was briefly concerned that something was wrong with the mission, but when he strained his ears to listen in, he heard:

“Scotty, for the last time, you are _not_ bringing _whiskey_ down as an icebreaker.”

“Ach, c’mon, lieutenant, no one’s ever gotten upset over a wee gift. Especially if it’s scotch whiskey – ”

“ _Except_ if those persons in question are Omiracronians, who view any mind-altering substance as a weapon of deceit and ill-will. Something that I was _extremely_ clear about in the briefing, which I know you were at because I made eye contact with you the entire time I was discussing it.”

“Aye, a’right, lieutenant, I won’t give it to the Omiracronians; I still dinnae see why I cannae bring doon a bottle for me’self—”

“What part of _weapon of deceit and ill-will_ do you not understand – ”

“They willnae see it! I’ll be sure to drink it in private – ”

“ _Scotty_.”

“ – in my quarters when I return to the ship. Understood Lieutenant.”

Kirk felt the corners of his lips turn up despite himself, his mood lifting, and turned his focus to the Federation diplomats huddled in a circle and whispering urgently. However, the most he could glean from their conversations was a sense of nervous energy, which made sense given that for most of them, this was their first mission. Between the “battle” of Vulcan and the... _incident_ last year with Khan, Starfleet and the Federation currently had an unfortunate lack of veteran diplomats. Something that simultaneously raised the stakes and made the possibility of reaching a favourable deal that much more of a pain in the ass. Add on to all of that the old man’s request, and this week was definitely shaping up to be in Kirk’s bottom hundred.

“Bones, try and save some of that southern charm for the Omiracronians,” Kirk clapped his friend on the shoulder, grinning at the withering look shot his way.

“Damn fool of a mission this is,” Bones grumbled, “a week on a planet that we know next to nothing about. The possibilities of accidental medical complications and emergencies astronomical, and that’s not even counting whatever damn foi grais we’ll be expected to eat – ”

“If it makes you feel better, I promise to sit close to you at all times so you can stab me with whatever hypos you feel like.”

Bones shot him a look, but now his eyes held a gruff warmth. “Kid, if you’re trying to cheer me up, I have to tell you the prospect of having to sit next to you and watch all these Omiracronians flirt with you isn’t all that thrilling.”

“Aw, c’mon, Bones – ”  
  
“It is statistically unlikely based on our current understanding of their social and political culture that any of the Omiracronians will engage in flirtatious behaviour with the Captain.” Spock came to stand beside them, hands clasped behind his back and staring evenly at the two of them.

Bones snorted. “Yeah? Are you forgetting Millerand V? Or Phyllo III? Or Enbridge IV? Tauonia? Lopalo VII – ?”

“None of which were engaged in negotiations with us for their acceptance to the Federation,” Spock cut Bones off, and Kirk couldn’t be imagining the slight edge to his voice, “furthermore, even should such a statistically unlikely even occur, it would be irresponsible of the Captain to entertain such flirtatious overtures during – ”

Kirk held up his hands to stop the sermon. “Relax, Commander, despite popular belief I _can_ actually perform my duties without breaking regulations; _and_ while keeping my pants on. Now,” He glanced around the room to see everyone pretending to be busy and studiously not looking at the three of them (save for the diplomats, most of whom were staring in open affronted horror, and if _that_ was their poker faces then they were in a hell of a lot more trouble than Kirk had thought), “do we have the beam down coordinates?”

“Yes, Captain,” a young (new) ensign called out from behind the control desk, “the Omiracron delegation is awaiting your arrival at your convenience.”

Kirk nodded, before gesturing towards the transport pad. “Well, let’s not keep our hosts waiting.”

The diplomatic convoy stepped up onto the pad and after giving one more customary glance to be sure that they were all in place, Kirk gave a nod to the ensign.

“Energize.”

* * *

After his conversation with the old man, a part of him had thought Omiracron might resemble Vulcan somehow; but he could not have compared two more opposite planets.

Omiracron reminded him of the night he broke into the botanical garden domes in San Francisco. Or, at least, what he can remember of the night. As soon as they beamed down, they were surrounded by an endless array of plant life. He could barely contain the kid in him that wanted to run his fingers over all of it, to touch and take in the multitude of colours around them. There were twisting, dark brown trees with green crystalline prisms dripping down in opaque curtains all around them, similar to Earth’s weeping willow trees. The grass beneath their feet was green, but changed to a blue hue as it was stepped on. Flowers with layered petals, in as many hues as Kirk had heartbeats, were also seemingly everywhere. The petals of which would turn grey and desaturated at the first sign of approach, shriveling up and wilting; only to return to their former glory as soon as the surprised interloper stumbled back.

The flora alone was enough to have Uhuru sighing in wonder, and even Bones looked marginally less grumpy (miracle of miracles) than usual. 

And that was before they reached the city.

Towering crystalline buildings intertwined and fused with some sort of masterfully worked metal, which itself had elaborate designs engraved into it in the form of swirling leaves. Most of the structures fell under the shadow of the enormous tress in the vast forest encircling the city, but what appeared to be the central buildings of the town spiraled up and up and up and broke through the tree line; towering above everything else and allowing sunlight to stream through the opening made for their ascension. It reminded Kirk of a story he had read once about an emerald city beyond a field of flowers, and a group of rag tag traveling companions equally as awed as he was.

“Well, Mr. Spock, we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

Spock looked up from his tricorder. “I assume you are making a reference to the fact that our current surroundings resemble the city composed of green cyclosilicate from classical Earth literature, Captain. A simultaneously obscure and apt comparison, but one which I am inclined to agree with.”  
  
Kirk felt something inside himself warm at the – was it a compliment? It certainly felt like one. “I didn't know you were a fan of classical earth literature, Mr. Spock.”  
  
“I...” A shadow of something darkened his first officer’s eyes for a moment, “I was given an introduction to it at an early age in order to better understand the duality of my existence.”

Silence fell over the two of them for a moment, heavy with a name left unspoken. And Kirk had never been comfortable with silences, at least, not those outside of chess, so, with a thrum of nervous energy itching under his skin, he opened his mouth to say something to break it. But surprisingly, or maybe not, as he seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to Kirk putting his foot in his mouth, Spock beat him to it.

“Though, despite my overall satisfaction with the conclusion of that literary work, I do hope the icon of this city will put up less pretence than his fictional counterpart. And additionally, that we shall not need the intervention of a “good” witch nor the de-solidification of a “wicked” one.”

Kirk laughed. “C’mon, Spock. If things go that bad at least we’d get to see some flying monkeys.”

Spock arched an eyebrow at him. “I am uncertain of the logical value of that reward.”

“Besides the fact that it would be awesome?”

“I believe I did say the logical value, not the emotional one.”

Kirk shook his head, smiling slightly. “That you did, Mr. Spock, forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Captain,” Spock turned back to his tricorder, lowering his voice as he continued, “unless, of course, you are seeking pre-emptive redemption for some scheme you plan to implement during the negotiations.”

Kirk struggled not to wince openly, because there was no way that Spock could know that he was... strategically deciding to omit information from the rest of the team. Which sounded a hell of a lot better than lying, or whatever the hell Spock had just said. And any warning klaxon in his mind saying otherwise was nothing more than a false alarm.

He opted for keeping his shoulders carefully, and hopefully casually, loose, throwing his inquisitor a playful wink for good measure. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission.”

“Your talent for subversion and omission notwithstanding, Captain, I fail to see how withholding information when we are entering into a precarious diplomatic dialogue could be in any way helpful.” Spock cut right through his attempt at bullshit, as per usual.

Kirk fought against the urge to bang his head against one of those very lovely trees, partly because he was fairly certain that Uhuru had mentioned something about trees being sacred to the Omiracronians and partly because Spock might accuse him of trying to further jeopardize the negotiations. Curse stupid, ancient time traveling Vulcans and their potentially reality imploding secrets. This would all have been _so much easier_ if he could have just told Spock everything about the other him. Kirk _hated_ keeping things from him. And he found it harder not to second guess himself when he didn’t have the opportunity to talk over his plans with another person, and given the nature of this request and the involvement of the ambassador, that was pretty much impossible.

Someone was apparently looking out for him though, out of pity or curiosity he didn’t know (but was thankful all the same), and he realized that their guides had led them into one of the main buildings. He turned away from Spock to glance around at the

high vaulted ceilings and dangling crystal lights that appeared to mimic the willow crystals (as Kirk has decided to call them for now) from the forest; overcome by an awe that he struggles to contain.

“We welcome you, Representatives of the Federation.”

Kirk turned his gaze from the dangling lights to one of the omiracronians standing in front of a long table in the middle of the room. He looked, for the most part, like any of the other omiracronians they had seen so far. His skin was the colour of the grass from the forest, but from his knees down the hue slowly shifted into the blue the grass turned after it had been walked on. His irises were rings of the same pale green crystalline prisms as the trees, and where on a human would be the whites of his eyes, his were the same dark brown as the tree bark. A white cloth robe, tightly fitted to the confines of his body, reached to just above his ankles, showcasing his bare feet. The only significant difference between him and the others omiracronians was the circle of brilliant silver dots painted around the circumference of his bald head.

Kirk lead his crew, and the diplomats, in the greeting gesture Uhuru had demonstrated for them earlier. He pressed the tips of his fingers to his forehead and then extended his hand downward; hoping like hell that all his practicing in front of the mirror the past few days hadn’t accidentally made him worse.

“Captain James. T. Kirk of the _U.S.S_ _Enterprise;_ we thank you for your welcome, honorable _Airgead._ ” Kirk gestures towards his crew. “This is my Science and First Officer, Commander Spock; Head of Communications, Lieutenant Uhuru; Chief of Engineering, Commander Scott; and my Chief Medical Officer, Dr. McCoy.”

His team repeat the greeting gesture from before while Kirk glanced at the diplomats and, internally sighing at their still stunned faces, introduced them as well. “And our Federation mediators, Mr. Sam Collins, Ms. Xueta Lee, and Zer Nil Mezzo.” Kirk faked a slight cough and the ambassadors hurriedly repeated the greeting gesture as well.

If the Airgead noticed anything amiss, then he had the kind of poker face that Kirk wished like hell their own people had. “I am Airgead Beithe, representor of the will of my people, with the strength of my advisors, Cabhrú Nathair, Cabhrú Leighis, Cabhrú Caint, and Cabhrú Meicniúil.” 

His people returned that same greeting gesture and then Aigead motioned towards the table. It looked like a decent place to negotiate, beyond decent, really, with beautiful engraved metal chairs and pillows that, from this angle at least, looked extremely comfortable. Certainly a step up from a previous, and notorious, series of negotiations where Kirk and his team had been expected to sit on small circular stools made of nails. Still, Kirk couldn’t quite fight off the dread that settled so thick and heavily in his stomach when the Aigead took his seat and once more motioned to the table with a regal wave of his hand, voice carefully measured as the alien spoke.  
  
“Shall we begin?”  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, had to update the tags for this one, because I forgot them originally, mind them as you go.  
> Hope y'all are doing okay!

“I see the tales they tell of you are not entirely undeserved, Captain.”

Kirk lowered the glass he’d been drinking from and offered his diplomatic smile. “That’s very kind of you to say, Airgead.”

They were wrapping up the end of their negotiations, which thankfully had gone on without any mission thwarting disasters. In fact, Kirk was pretty sure they were going to have the deal signed by tomorrow. Which meant he had tonight at this gala held in their honour to somehow convince the Airgead to put some of his people on an alien star ship to travel to a completely foreign planet to help a people they’d never heard of until a few years ago. And despite the fact that he’d already told Spock Prime not to hold his breath, he’d be damned if he brought back anything other than good news.

He may have been cutting it close, but now really was the perfect time; they were near enough to getting out of here that neither Bones nor Spock were hovering by his shoulder just waiting for him to fuck up. And at this point, tentative acquaintanceships had formed between the rest of either side’s respective negotiation teams, leaving him free to enact his diabolical little plan free of any witnesses.

“I must admit,” The Airgead continued, and Kirk forced his attention back to the conversation, “my advisors were wary of allowing such a... _fresh_ captain to lead the negotiations.”

Kirk smiled, all easy charm and pretty, naïve blue eyes, and swalled down the bitter rush of sharp words that rose up at the remark. “Well, our people have found that age is rarely a reliable measure of competency.”

“Indeed,” a smirk tugged at the corners of the Airgead’s lips, “I suppose one can make up for the lack of years with a surplus of... _experience_. And, if rumors are to be believed you’ve certainly accumulated more than your fair share of that.”

There was a slight tilt to the tone that Kirk recognized, one that made him think that the ‘ _experience_ ’ the Airgead was referring to has very little to do with Starfleet operations.

“Hard to believe anything you hear these days.” Kirk took another sip of his drink, savouring the crisp bitterness as something inside him twisted, desperate to be as far away from this situation and the memories it drew to the surface as possible. “Much better to... _experience_ it for yourself.”

There was a familiar glint in the Airgead’s eyes, and Kirk felt the weight of them like a physical touch travelling up and down his body. He forced himself to remain lax and receptive underneath those eyes, as though he were _inviting_ the gaze. And all that came with it.

“Perhaps,” the Airgead stepped closer to Kirk, until their bodies were mere inches from each other, his voice low enough for only the two of them to hear, “you would be willing to accompany me somewhere a bit more... quiet? So that you could explain to me the depth of your experience?”

Kirk made his eyes flicker up and down the Airgead, forcing a look to his face that other people would have called hungry. He wouldn’t have, not ever. He knew what hungry really looked like – caught it once in a fragmented reflection of glass from a broken store window – and knew that he couldn’t subject the people of New Vulcan to that. Not when they’d already gone through so much.

“Perhaps,” Kirk said, drawing the word out as though clearly fighting some great moral debate in his mind, “that is a very tempting offer, however,” he leaned in close to whisper in the Airgead’s ear and felt the man’s breath hitch slightly as he did so, “there was one more detail of the negotiations I wanted to work out before tomorrow.”

The Airgead raised an eyebrow, but the smirk was still on his face, eyes still aflame, and it was all Kirk could do not to sigh in relief. “Oh? I’m sure whatever it is we could arrange something to both of our... _satisfaction_. What is it you seek?”

“I was hoping to convince your government to send an envoy of its people to the colony of New Vulcan.” Kirk sighed, fixing the Airgead with those big blue eyes, “The Vulcan people are in need of experienced botanists to help them with their food supply. If your people could help in any way with that, I would be,” he lowered his voice slightly, “ _very_ grateful.”

There was a moment or two where the Airgead just looked at him, and Kirk felt like some kind of fascinating creature pinned under glass, the pressure squeezing out the air from his lungs.

“Consider it done.” The air rushed back into Kirk’s body as the Airgead wrapped an arm around his back and started to lead them towards the door of the hall. “We will discuss further... _details_ in my chambers.”

“Of course,” Kirk forced himself to murmur, placing his empty glass on the tray of a nearby waiter –

Only for the wrist of his now empty hand to be caught in someone else' grip.

He knew who it was before he turned, but he still felt something in his gut twist fiercely when he saw those familiar pointed ears.

“Captain,” and fuck, Spock’s voice was goddamn _frigid_ , barely a few degrees above an outright unacceptable tone to address your superior officer, “the gala is reaching its conclusion. I believe now would be an optimal time for all members of the _Enterprise_ ’s delegation to return to their assigned rooms.”

Kirk nodded, despite the fact that his mouth felt as dry as the Vulcan desert. Except... that didn’t exist anymore, did it? That was the whole reason he was here, getting ready to offer himself up on a platter so he didn’t have to face the disappointment in other Spock’s eyes or have other people’s hunger on his conscience.

“Sounds great, Spock.” He nodded his head towards the Airgead, “I’ll head back a little later, the Airgead is going to show me some of his favourite classical artwork.”

He knew Spock wasn’t convinced, saw it despite his perfectly neutral expression, felt it in the continued grip, gentle yet firm, on his wrist.

After a few more minutes of silence, Kirk looked pointedly at the fingers still holding him in place. “Spock.”

He almost didn’t think Spock was going to let him go, and was equal parts relieved and dismayed when he did; long fingers slowly uncurling as he drew his body into a tightly controlled parade rest.

“I will ensure that all members return to their assigned quarters.” Spock inclined his head respectfully towards the Airgead, but his eyes remain locked on Kirk’s. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Please, do not worry about your Captain, Commander.” The arm returned, snaking around Kirk’s back and resting on his hip in a way that had been manageable when it was just the two of them – but was excruciating under Spock’s calculating gaze. “I will _ensure_ he enjoys himself.”

There was something that flashed in Spock’s eyes, and it reminded Kirk of the way he had looked on the bridge, just a few short years ago with those same hands wrapped around Kirk’s throat. It was gone the next time Kirk blinked, replaced with a cold clearness that chilled Kirk more than Delta Vega ever could, and Spock turned on his heel and marched away to round up the rest of the crew. And Kirk couldn’t stop the part of himself that wished desperately, despite all reason, that Spock had taken him with him.

But instead of making polite refusals and rejoining the rest of his crew, Kirk let the Airgead lead him up to his chambers, discussing the details of their new found arrangement in coy statements and brief touches, and devoted the rest of his strength to not throwing up on the beautiful floor.

* * *

“I hope you won’t mind, but I took the liberty of adjusting the details of our deal.”

Kirk’s crew looked surprised, and he forced himself to blend in. “It was my understanding that we had achieved a fair deal for both sides – ”

“Rest assured, the deal’s fairness was never in question,” the Airgead drummed his fingers on the table and smiled at Kirk. “It has simply come to our attention that the settlement on New Vulcan requires botanical aid. In the interest of solidifying our alliance with one another, we would like to offer a team of our best to support them in this time of crisis. That is, if you would be so kind as to ensure safe transport to and from the colony.”

Kirk pretended to think it over, trying to ignore the way that Spock’s brow was pinched ever so slightly beside him, the same way it always was whenever he was trying to figure out some weird ass readings from the sensors.

“That is most gracious of you, Airgead.” Kirk extended his hand towards the smiling man, offering his own dazzlingly brilliant fake smile back. “We would be happy to accept.”

As the Airgead’s hand clasped his own, Kirk didn’t think of the places on his body that still bore its touch – imagining instead scrubbing all those places red and raw until that touch bled away down the drain.

* * *

When the botanists and ambassadors were squared away and Kirk was finally, _finally_ , heading back to the bridge of his ship, he let his head loll against the side of the turbolift.  
  
“Thank _fuck_ that’s over with.”

“Could’nae have said it better meself, Captain,” Scotty shot him a grin and Kirk, despite his fatigue, felt himself returning a genuine one of his own.

He levelled a stern finger at Scotty when they reached the engineering deck. “Try and save at _least_ a glass of that scotch for me, got it?”

“I think I can manage a glass,” Scotty smirked, then disappeared back into the bowels of their ship with nothing more than a small wave.

“Forget a glass, I need a whole damn bottle,” Bones grumbled as they reached his deck, throwing one last dig over his shoulder as he went, “make sure you get some sleep before you collect on that scotch, Jim. You look like death warmed over.”

Kirk made a gesture that was not entirely appropriate for a Captain to give his CMO as the turbolift doors closed, leaving just him and Spock alone as they made their way to the bridge.

“Captain.”

Kirk closed his eyes for a brief moment, steadying himself before tilting his head at his companion. “Something on your mind, Mr. Spock?”

“I find myself... ” Spock appeared to search for the right word for a moment, his brow now fully doing that ridiculously cute pinched thing it always did, “... _curious_ as to how the Airgead was able to obtain information about the status of the colony on _Kar-i-far._ That is – ”

“New Vulcan, yeah, I know.” Kirk didn’t miss the way Spock’s eyes narrowed at that and he kicked himself for over-showing his hand. “Who knows, Spock, maybe they had their intelligence service prepare a briefing about the state of the different planets of the Federation so they could pull out a trump card – who cares? It all worked out, right?”

Spock’s voice was clipped, arms and body too tightly controlled to be at ease. “I find myself hesitant to believe that an intelligence service from a planet not yet capable of space flight was able to obtain information about a Federation colony.”

The turbolift doors opened, offering Kirk an escape and he rolled his eyes at Spock before stepping onto his bridge. “The universe is a strange place, Mr. Spock.”

“Captain, I – ”

“Welcome back, Captain,” Sulu jumped out of the Captain’s chair and Kirk greeted him with a wry smile. “I trust negotiations went well.”

Kirk sank into the chair, hiding the aches in his body with a wry grin. “Put it this way, Sulu, no one died.”

“Sounds like a success to me, sir.” Chekov piped up, and Kirk was nearly blinded by the grin the officer shoots his way. “Course laid in for New Wulcan, sir; stopping to deliwer ambassadors at Star Base K – ”

“Captain,” Uhura interrupted, “incoming transmission from Starfleet Headquarters. It's the Admirals.”

Ah. It was time to face the music then.

“On screen.”

Chris’ face popped up first and Kirk could already tell that this wasn’t his idea by the apologetic look he sent his way. But before he could try and suss out just what exactly he was about to get yelled at for this time, the rest of the Admirals popped into placed beside him on the screen.

“Captain Kirk,” Admiral Luana, in the bottom left corner, was the first to speak, grey lips twisted in a fierce scowl.

Kirks nodded at them all. “Admirals, what can I – ”

“We received the details of the deal you struck with the Omiracronians.” Admiral Luana said this like it was some sort of damning indictment of Kirk’s character – like she’d somehow got a hold of video from that time on Rigel IV ready to play for them all.

Kirk tapped his fingers on the armrests of his chair to try and focus himself, but he was tired, so _very_ fucking tired, and the carefully constructed words in his head came out a bit more bluntly than he had actually wanted them to. “Is there something wrong with it?”

Admiral Luana bristled, drawing herself up, and Kirk knew he’d given her exactly the fodder she needed. “Perhaps you would mind explaining to myself and the rest of the Admirals why you thought it would be a good idea to transport unknown botany to New Vulcan.”

Kirk frowned, opening his mouth to respond. “I – ”

“Perhaps, Captain Kirk, you need a revision of your Federation history,” Admiral Luana snapped, “are you aware of an incident involving the colony on Tarsus IV?”

_Dead and rotting grains in the fields as far as the eye can see – dead and rotting people with unseeing eyes stacked on top of each other – dead and rotting souls laughing as they stuff themselves with food as he tries to coax bodies with bones that threaten to tear through sickly translucent skin to stay alive –_

“I’m aware of it,” Kirk felt his mouth say.

“Then you are aware of the disastrous consequences of transporting unexamined botanical specimens from one planet to another” – Admiral Luana was just getting into her rant, he could tell, but her words didn’t touch him – deflected by the memory of pounding desperately on a tiny chest, frantically trying to coax an even tinier heart back into beating – “the colony on New Vulcan is just barely getting to its feet as it is. To risk the possibility of outright famine – ”

“Perhaps, Admiral, we could give Captain Kirk the chance to explain himself, as you requested,” Chris interrupted, and his voice drew Kirk back to himself.

Admiral Luana stiffened, drawing herself up primly. “Well then, Captain?”

It took Kirk a minute to respond, running through what had been said again until the words _botany_ and _botanical specimens_ jumped out at him and – _oh._

“I think there has been a misunderstanding, Admirals,” Kirk began, lacing his fingers together over his knee. “We are not transporting any type of botany, alive or dead, to New Vulcan. We are transporting _botanists_ to assist the ones currently on New Vulcan.”

Admiral Luana blinked, mouth hanging open uselessly for a few moments, and the rest of the Admirals looked a cross between amused or annoyed. “I don’t understand – ”

“Perhaps a clerical error,” Spock appeared at Kirk’s side, standing next to his chair with his hands carefully folded behind his back, “or a linguistic one. As Lieutenant Uhura can confirm, the omiracronian language has yet to be completely decoded by the universal translator. In particular certain orthographical aspects remain... unclear.”

It was a kindness, and Kirk was glad Spock was the one to offer the potential way out for the Admiral because at that moment he didn’t think he could have.

But Admiral Luana’s brow furrowed and Kirk could see she wasn’t going to take the opportunity. “But how did the question of securing resources even enter into the negotiation dialogue? Such a goal was not included in your orders, Kirk.”

Her eyes flickered towards Spock and Kirk knew with a sickening lurch in his stomach what her next words were going to be, and he’d be damned if he let them leave her lips.

“ _I_ received a transmission shortly before the negotiations began, apprising me of the situation on _Kar-i-far_ ,” Kirk’s chest was burning, anger leaking into his words, but he didn’t give a damn, because how _dare_ she even think of accusing Spock of trying to interfere with the negotiations, “and _I_ informed the Airgead of the situation during a break in the negotiations. At which point, he offered to supply his people in an effort to help with the crisis.”

He stood up, jaw tight and his eyes locked onto the Admiral’s. “Given your thorough knowledge of the Tarsus IV incident, Admiral, you can appreciate my reluctance to let the Federation solve the matter in its own time.”

The Admiral’s face twisted into a snarl of indignant rage. “How _dare_ you – ”

“I think,” Chris’ voice cut in calmly, but with the kind of tone that everyone shuts the fuck up at, “we are arguing a point that has already been resolved. The deal with the Omiracronians appears to include all that we were hoping for, _and_ support with the New Vulcan situation. I see no reason to continue debating how this was achieved.”

The other Admirals voiced their agreement and cut their transmission soon after, Admiral Luana aiming one last scowl at Kirk for good measure, until it was only Chris’ tired face on the screen.

“Jesus, you don’t do things by half, do you, Jim?”

Kirk shrugged, taking a seat back in his chair. “Figured it’d be out of character to start now.”

“Probably, but I might get a few more years out of life if you tried,” Chris returned dryly, and Kirk tried not to remember his broken, bleeding body, barely clinging to life. Still, Chris must have seen something on Kirk’s face, because he shot him a soft, if tired, smile with his next words. “I wouldn’t worry too much about Admiral Luana, she’s just looking to solidify her standing with the other Admirals.”

“Hard to fill Marcus’ shoes, huh?” Kirk drawled.

Chris shot him a look, a silent warning not to push his luck any further. “We got a message from New Vulcan offering shore leave for you and your crew after the delivery of the botanists. I’ve already approved it, so try and get some sun if you can, Kirk.”

Kirk offered Chris a mock salute, cocky grin already stitched back into place. “Understood, Admiral.”

Chris rolled his eyes, but couldn’t keep the smirk curling his lips at bay. “Pike out.”

The transmission ended, revealing the endless expanse of black void and the stars that poked holes through it on the viewscreen, and Kirk tried not to slump back into his seat, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

Kirk cracked open his eyes to see Chekov staring hesitantly up at him. “Granted.”

“That Admiral vas a real jerk.”

Kirk stared back at him for a moment, before laughter started to bubble up from his chest and past his lips, fatigue finally overcoming him. Luckily, no one seemed to notice the hysterical edge to it as the tension seeped from the bridge, a couple of other laughs accompanying his.

“That is not an appropriate way to refer to a senior officer, lieutenant.” Spock said, and Kirk’s was glad he did because, once again, _someone_ had to and it sure as shit wasn’t going to be him.

Chekov flushed slightly, but it didn’t erase the smile from his lips. “Sorry, Commander.”

Kirk waved his apology off, even though it wasn’t directed at him. “At ease, Chekov; leave orbit when ready. Warp factor three, Mr. Sulu.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.

Kirk waited until they were about five minutes into their journey, Omiracron now a small orb steadily shrinking with every second, to turn to Spock, who still hadn’t returned to his post. “Hey, would you mind taking the reins for a little bit? I think I might fall asleep in the chair and that’s not exactly Captain-y, y’know?”

Spock sent him a strange look, his eyebrow raised slightly. “You are... admitting to your fatigue?”

Kirk sent him a sloppy grin in return. “Hey, even I can be responsible sometimes.”

“Your overall commitment to professional responsibility is within the 99th percentile, Captain,” Spock told him, and Kirk told _himself_ that was a stupid thing to feel warm and fuzzy about, before that feeling died abruptly as Spock continued, “however, when it comes to responsibility for your own health and well-being, that statistic decreases considerably.”

“Well,” Kirk forced his tone to remain light, standing up as he continued, “here’s to getting those numbers up, huh? Mr. Spock, you have the con.”

“Captain – ”

“I’ll be in my quarters if you need me.” Kirk quickened his pace, ignoring the way that Spock tried to call him back, and stepped into the turbolift without turning around. When the doors closed behind him, he exhaled a shaky breath of relief, and leaned his head against the wall of the turbolift with a little more force than last time.

It didn’t take him long to make it to his quarters. Or maybe it did. He wasn’t really conscious of anything until he blinked and realized he was sitting on the floor of his shower, scrub brush in hand, skin achingly red and raw. He sat there for a while longer, fighting the impulse to keep scrubbing, before managing to overcome it. Fingers gripped tightly around the door frame as he slowly hauled himself up and out, drying off with a towel before slipping on a pair of sweatpants and heading back into his main quarters.

It took the sharp intake of breath to realize that he wasn’t alone.

He jerked towards the sound of the voice, eyes widening when he saw who it is, explanations already falling off his lips. “Bones – ”

“Christ, Jim,” Bones was next to him in an instant, pulling out his tricorder and running it over his abused flesh, “what the hell happened to you?”

“Nothing, Bones – ” Kirk tried to step away, but Bones’ hand caught his elbow and held him in place, raising an eyebrow at the hiss of pain that slipped past Kirk’s lips in response.

“Nothing, huh?” Bones’ voice was sharp enough to cut through the hull of the ship. “You want to explain to me how you ended up with this much _nothing_?”

“Why are you even here?” Kirk snapped, “Shouldn’t you be down in medical with a bottle of whiskey by now?”

Bones’ eyes narrowed like they always did when he was weighing the pros and cons of physically shaking some sense into Kirk. “ _I’m_ here, because _your_ first officer requested that I “ascertain your wellbeing”.”

Panic clawed at Kirk’s throat. “Spock – ?”

“The one and only,” Bones guided Kirk to his bed, frowning when he winced in pain as the fabric rubbed against the sore flesh on his legs, “and I thought if _he_ noticed something was wrong, I’d better not wait for you to answer the door.”

“Improper use of medical overrides is a crime, Bones,” Kirk said, because really, what the hell else could he have said to that?

“Well, I guess you’re going to have to throw me in the brig, then,” Bones snapped, “after you tell me what happened.”

Kirk didn’t say anything, keeping his jaw tightly clenched.

Bones sighed and drew back until he was standing at his full height, his arms crossed over his chest. “Jim, either tell me now or I can call Spock down here and we’ll do this with him.”

Kirk pushed himself up at that, or tried to, as his legs gave way halfway through the attempt and Bones had to catch him. “This has nothing to do with Spock.”

“He’s your first officer,” Bones replied, firm in the face of Kirk’s snarling protest, but there was a gentleness to it that Kirk hated even more, “it’s his duty to ensure your safety and if I’m not able to send a report to him saying that it’s all taken care of then I _will_ call him down here.”

Bones muttered something else under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “be hard to keep him away” but Kirk was too caught up in the idea of what Spock’s eyes would say when they saw the state of his skin to pay any close attention to it.

“You fight dirty, Bones,” Kirk complained, but let his friend gingerly lay him back onto his bed.

Bones rolled his eyes. “Just tryin’ to keep up with you, kid.”

Kirk closed his eyes, guilt roiling in his stomach, and Bones joined their hands together before patting Kirk lightly on the face with his other. “Hey, none of that. Jim... _tell me_.”

It was easier because Bones knew already, had found him on the bathroom floor in their shared dorm on the ‘ _anniversary_ ’ of it all clutching an empty bottle of Durian brandy in one hand and an unopened bottle of pills he had stolen from Bones’ medical bag in the other.

So, he told him, and Bones ran the dermal regenerator over his flesh, the skin becoming perfect again under his administrations and Kirk swallowed down the feeling that all it was doing was covering it up – covering _him_ up – and focused instead on pushing the rest of his explanation past his lips.

When Bones was done, he tucked Kirk underneath the covers and crawled in next to him, wrapping his arms around Kirk’s trembling body and holding him close.

“Bones – ” Kirk’s voice was low and vulnerable in a way that made his own skin crawl to hear, and he shifted away from the embrace. Don’t, I’m not - ”

Bones tightened his grip around him. “You are.”

And after a few more minutes of silent struggle, Kirk finally allowed himself to surrender to the conviction in Bones’ voice. Clinging to it just as desperately as he clung to Bones’ body, letting both hold him in their care until sleep finally pulled him under at long last.


	3. Chapter 3

The Captain was unwell.

He’d been aware of the fact for weeks, months even, observing from afar the differences in the resurrected Captain compared to the previous version. Something troubled him, plaguing his mind and causing a level of distraction that, while remaining within acceptable parameters for peak starship operation, was nonetheless – _worrying_.

Illogical, given that it did not interfere with the ship’s business, and so Spock should have had no cause for concern over it. And yet, he found himself preoccupied with the feeling, concern leading to an increase in his own distractibility – which could not be tolerated. He must always perform at peak efficiency in order to ensure that an event like that – the Captain behind glass, life fading from his eyes – was never allowed to occur again.

Perhaps, he was experiencing these sensations because he was the Captain’s – was _Jim’s_... friend.

The Captain had certainly provided enough evidence that he believed this to be the case; seeking him out on several occasions since their departure from Earth with invitations to dinner, lunch, breakfast, and even activities that did not involve consuming nutrition, such as sparring and chess.

Nyota sent him an unreadable look on the occasions that she was present to witness him decline these invitations, and he had yet to understand why. All attempts to question her about these looks had been met with either an arched eyebrow or a shake of her head.

All except for one.

He had been in the mess hall, watching the Captain head towards the replicators after declining a request for a chess match later that evening, when he caught Uhura shaking her head across from him.

“You disapprove of my choice?”

Nyota sighed, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ears. “More like I don’t understand it.”

“What portion of my refusal to engage in a chess match with the Captain confuses you?”

“Spock,” Nyota raised an eyebrow at him, “you nearly killed yourself bringing Kirk back, but now that he’s here and he’s trying to spend time with you turn him down? Where’s the logic in that?”

He found her summarization of the events inaccurate. He hadn’t nearly killed himself reviving the Captain – he had nearly slaughtered Khan for taking him away.

Even after so much time had passed, he could still feel the genetically modified human’s flesh tearing and bones breaking beneath his hands, could remember how the rage had felt – so thick and heavy that he thought it might suffocate him – because this man – this _thing_ – was the reason for the empty jagged cavity in his side hemorrhaging emotions – was the reason that he would never see the Captain tilt his head whenever he had found something Spock said illogically amusing, would never witness the calculating determination that the Captain employed to get them out of all those ‘no-win’ scenarios, would never feel the brief touch of his mind against Spock’s whenever the Captain connected their bodies with his ubiquitous casual touches –

– was the reason that Jim had died behind a glass wall, smiling softly to try and comfort _Spock_ right until the end, out of his reach.

And then Khan had been safely placed in cryogenic stasis, and the Captain was smiling up at him from his hospital bed, life once again in those vibrant blue eyes – and the enormity of it all had hit him. What he had been willing to do to avenge the Captain, what a part of him still yearned to do.

Distance, he had decided, was the key to resolving this... lack of control concerning his superior officer, just until he was able to categorize and regain command of the emotions the Captain engendered within him. Once the appropriate amount of time had passed and his logic had returned to him, then it would be safe to continue to foster this... _friendship_ between the two of them.

He hadn't told Nyota this, however, merely returning to the data PADD next to his meal and adding a few more notes to the engineering report. “It is logical that I prioritize the efficiency of the Enterprise and its projects. The Captain has other options for such extracurricular activities.”

Dr. McCoy joined the Captain at the replicator line, saying something into the Captain’s ear, at a distance far too close for it to be anything professional, and Spock’s hands tightened around his stylus when the Captain tilted his head back in a genuine laugh.

Nyota’s eyes flickered between the scene and Spock, shaking her head again before returning to her meal and leaving Spock to his work.

* * *

He paced outside the entrance to the Captain’s quarters, debating the possible consequences of announcing his presence. The Captain had appeared tired, drained, on the bridge, so, were he to knock and awake the Captain from a much-needed rest, that would serve only to further frustrate his purpose. On the other hand, he had sent Dr. McCoy to ascertain the Captain’s wellbeing at the beginning of his shift, and had gone through the entirety of it without receiving a report. Which either meant that the doctor was neglecting his duties, or there was something seriously wrong with the Captain.

Either way, as First Officer, it was his duty to find out.

He had just come to a decision, raising a hand to press the call button beside the Captain’s door, when it slid open and revealed Dr. McCoy.

“Damn it, Spock,” Dr. McCoy appeared startled at his presence, taking a moment to collect himself before stepping past him, and the door slid shut behind him before Spock could catch a glimpse of what might have been beyond it, “how long have you been standing there?”

“My quarters _are_ adjacent to the Captain’s, Doctor,” Spock said, though he failed to see why he would need to provide a reason for being on this floor, or even outside the Captain’s door for that matter. “And to answer your question, I have been here for an entirely appropriate amount of time.”

His eyes traveled up and down Dr. McCoy’s attire, taking in the wrinkles and creases of his clothes and his unkempt hair. “I am afraid, however, the same cannot be said for you.” 

It took a moment for the doctor to fully parse his meaning and when he did the anger was as fierce as it is predictable. “Now you listen here, you pointy-eared green-blooded gremlin, _I_ am the Chief Medical Officer of this vessel, and _I’ll_ decide how much time is _appropriate_ to spend with a patient.”

“Indeed.” Spock raised an eyebrow, his words cold despite the vicious burning in his side. “And in all that time, were you able to enact the duty I charged you with?”

“Yes, I just about managed it,” Dr. McCoy snapped. “You wanted to know whether or not Jim was alright, well, he’s fine. Just suffering from some fatigue. I’m putting him on medical leave for now, but he’ll be bright eyed, bushy tailed, and back on that damn bridge come morning.”

The doctor went to move past Spock, clearly believing their conversation had reached its conclusion, only to jump when the Vulcan’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist; similar to how he had gripped the Captain’s the previous night. 

It had been the first time that Spock had initiated skin to skin contact with the Captain since Khan, and had confirmed what he had suspected ever since then: that somewhere between the Captain’s release from Starfleet Medical and their departure on this five-year mission, the Captain’s mind had been deliberately shielded against telepathic abilities. While it had been helpful to determine that the absence of the Captain’s mind brushing against his, whenever he chose to engage Spock in the multitude of ubiquitous casual touches, was not due to some side effect from Khan’s blood, the revelation had not been entirely positive. Most poignantly, the thought of an individual from one of the few races capable of leading the Captain through the shielding process being allowed the necessary intimate access into the Captain’s mind in order to erect those shields had been... _disquieting_.

Dr. McCoy on the other hand, was not endowed with any such shields, and Spock managed to grasp a few loose thoughts and emotions before the doctor twisted out of his grip with a move that was equal parts clever and annoying, stumbling backward a few steps. “What the hell do you think you’re doing – ?!”

“Attempting to ascertain the Captain’s true status,” Spock’s eyes were narrowed as he closed the distance between the two of them, reaching out his hand again, “as you seemed determined to submit a false report about his wellbeing.”

“You – ” Dr. McCoy’s face turned a dark shade of red, and Spock considered suggesting that he take deep breaths in order to lower his blood pressure “ – you keep your damn telepathic fingers off of me and stay the hell out of my head, you – !”

“Bones!” The two of them froze at the new voice, turning in tandem to see the Captain standing in the hallway just in front of his door, his gaze shifting back and forth between the two of them. He was wearing a black undershirt and a pair of sweatpants, and Spock felt something within him twist uncomfortably at the severity of the Captain’s fatigue, betrayed by the discolouration under his eyes. “Somebody want to tell me what the hell’s going on here?”

And _want_ was not precisely the term that Spock would have chosen, but he preferred to relay his side of the story before the doctor had a chance to offer his erroneous version. “I was merely questioning Dr. McCoy about the status of your health, Captain.” Spock refused to look at the doctor when he spluttered in a rather undignified manner beside him. “When he proved set on relaying a report that was either willingly erroneous or carelessly incomplete, I attempted to ascertain the truth of your status – ”

“Oh, screw you,” Dr. McCoy responded, ever the paragon of unprofessionalism, before directing his next comments to the Captain. “Your _first officer_ here wouldn’t accept the fact that I gave him all the medical information _necessary_ for him to know – "

“ _Enough_ ,” the Captain held up his hands, stepping in between the two of them, keeping his back to Spock as he addressed Dr. McCoy, so Spock was able to see the tension in-between his shoulder blades. “Bones, I think you'd better go get some sleep. Spock,” the Captain turned to face him, “with me.”

“ _Jim_ ,” Dr. McCoy protested, shooting Spock a look over the Captain’s shoulder.

The Captain pat the doctor gently on the shoulder. “I’ll be alright, Bones. See you tomorrow.” He gestured for Spock to follow him back into his quarters, and Spock saw the doctor shoot one last scowl at him before storming off down the hallway.

Once inside, the Captain barely waited for the door to close behind the two of them before slumping into the seat at his desk. He looked up at Spock, frustration and fatigue warring on his face. “Alright, what’s going on with you?”

Spock cocked his head to the side. “Captain?”

“You heard me,” the Captain gestured towards the hallway, “that whole... _thing_ out there with Bones – what was that about?”

Spock kept his hands clasped behind his back. “He was attempting to obscure the true nature of your condition – ”

“I don’t have a _condition_ ,” The Captain shook his head, “I’m just... I’m _tired_ , Spock. It’s something that happens from time to time – ”

“I am aware of the human need for rest,” Spock returned evenly, “however, I am also aware of your reluctance to admitting when a significant lack of it is affecting you – ”

“So, I decide to actually take care of myself for once and suddenly I’m on my deathbed again?”

Spock felt the words like a physical blow, and it required considerably more effort to keep his voice steady as he continued. “It is my belief that your decision to do so was a result of the discussion with the Admiralty on the bridge today.” The Captain broke eye contact, lips thinning as he stared his desk, and Spock knew that he was correct – but the knowledge brought with it no satisfaction. “If that is the case, I surmise that you relinquished command not due to fatigue, as you stated, but because you found yourself emotionally compromised.”

The Captain raised his head to look at him, and there was a weight in those eyes that Spock had the urge to steal away. “And if I did?”

“Then I would request that you inform me what it was about the conversation that led to you becoming compromised,” Spock took a few steps closer, crossing behind the desk to stand beside the Captain, “that way I can ensure this situation is avoided in the future.”

“You really do go above and beyond in your duty, don’t you, Commander?” The corners of the Captain’s lips quirked upwards in a faint echo of a familiar smirk and it made Spock’s heart constrict slightly. “Anything to make sure the _Enterprise_ is the best in the ‘fleet, huh?”

Spock swallowed around the odd dry feeling in his mouth, “Thank you, Captain.” He was not entirely certain it was meant it as a compliment. 

The Captain sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, taking a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking. “I, uh, I knew some people that were at Tarsus, that’s all. So, when that asshole – ”

“Admiral,” Spock corrected.

“Asshole,” The Captain insisted, and Spock didn’t attempt to correct him twice, “when she threw it at me it kinda – it brought a lot of stuff back, that’s all.”

Spock nodded. It made sense that, coupled with the fatigue of a stressful week, someone so empathetic as the Captain would be thrown off balance at the reminder of such a terrible event, even one that didn’t happen to him.

“I see, I will endeavour to ensure that Tarsus IV is not discussed on the bridge.”

He considered asking whether or not the people the Captain knew were on the list of the Tarsus IV survivors, but at remembering the extremely low number and thus extremely low probability of that, decided against it.

The Captain nodded, and Spock was... gratified to see the relief that passed briefly over his face, “Thanks, Spock. Now, go get some sleep, it won’t do either us any good to show up on New Vulcan looking like hell.”

“I doubt either of us could portray an accurate version of the Terran hellscape without a much more concerted effort.”

The Captain blinked up at him, before a genuine smile spread slowly across his face. “I didn’t know you still made jokes.”

“I do not,” Spock told him, his heart entertaining an arrhythmic beat at the little snort of laughter that escaped his Captain, “I was simply relaying my opinion on the matter.”

“Sure,” The Captain was still smiling at him, and Spock found himself reluctant to turn away.

“I – ” He paused, organizing his thoughts. “I wanted to relay my thanks to you, for convincing the Airgead to send some of his botanists to aid _Kar-i-far_.”

The Captain’s eyes widened slightly, and he ducked his head. “Oh, don’t sweat it, Spock, happy to help – ”

“Nevertheless,” Spock continued, “the situation on _Kar-i-far_ is... precarious. Hopefully these experts will allow it to be remedied it more expediently. I also wanted to apologize for assuming that you were leaving with the Airgead to engage in...” his thoughts from that night returned to him, images of Jim gasping and moaning underneath the Airgead’s fingertips, and he struggled to keep his voice even, “...other affairs.”

The Captain’s fingers twitched minutely, and that casual, friendly ease slipped from him as he somehow curled tighter into himself without moving at all. “Don’t mention it.”

All of a sudden Spock felt off balance, like Lieutenant Sulu had them on the wrong bearing and the gravity settings weren’t working right in response, a rush of _wrong_ that he couldn’t quite identify welling up within him. “Captain, I – ”

He was cut off as the Captain’s computer trilled out a notification.

_"Incoming transmission from New Vulcan."_

“Ah, sorry, Spock, I gotta take this,” The Captain smiled at him in what was an obvious dismissal, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Spock paused for a moment before inclining his head towards the Captain in farewell; turning on his heel and departing quickly from the room and into his own quarters. He was surprised to find himself having to overcome the irrational, albeit brief, desire to stay and learn the identity of the Captain’s caller – to learn whether or not this was the person who informed the Captain of the botanical situation on New Vulcan –

– to learn whether or not this was the person that Jim had allowed into his mind.

He heard a cracking sound, taking him abruptly out of his thoughts, and looked down to see the shattered fragments of a decorative ornament that Nyota had purchased for him a few weeks before the termination of their relationship falling from his fingers.

He hauled himself physically away from the stark demonstration of his lack of control, he needed to – he needed to meditate – to organize these discordant thoughts and emotions. And, most of all, he needed to stop imagining unknown fingers pressing into the meld points on the Captain’s face.

* * *

Despite Kirk’s desperate wishes, the days following the little blow out between his two most senior officers weren’t that much better.

Spock barely spoke to anyone the whole way to New Vulcan, and when he had to for ship’s business, his replies were short and to the point; with a brutal efficiency that far outpaced his usual kind. If Kirk didn’t know better, he’d have called his First Officer _grumpy_.

Bones wasn’t any better, and while Kirk would have normally enjoyed the doctor’s frequent sojourns to the bridge, the tension had ratcheted up another ten levels every time he had visited.

By the time they were finally settling into orbit around New Vulcan, Kirk couldn’t wait for a couple days on an arid desert planet without any of his crew in sight. His plans were to curl up in the Ambassador’s house and intrude in on his hospitality for as long as the old man could stand him – and since he seemed to have a bigger tolerance for Kirk’s shit than anyone he’d ever met, he thought there was a pretty good chance he wouldn’t get kicked out before his four days were up. 

He gleefully gave the ensign the beam down coordinates, barely stopping himself from bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet like a giddy teenager.

And sure enough, a familiar robed figure was waiting outside when Kirk finally arrived, and the renowned starship captain was grinning like a mad man even before said figure lowered its hood.   
  
“Greetings, Jim,” Spock Prime offered up his hand in the traditional Vulcan salute, and Kirk scrambled to force his fingers into the same. “I trust your journey here was relatively smooth?” There was a twinkle of humor in the old man’s eyes. “As much as it ever is.”

Kirk laughed, moving up the path towards his friend. “You know me, old man, trouble magnet.” He shrugged. “But yeah, it was pretty good, all things considered.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Spock Prime gestured towards his house and the two of them ducked inside out of the heat. “Would you care for a cold beverage?”

“Some of that lemonade you were telling me about sounds great,” Kirk told him, slumping down on one of the couches and enjoying the soft breeze that drifted through the open back door. “Thanks again for letting me stay here while we’re in orbit.”

A glass was deposited in his hand barely a second later and the old man sent him a soft smile. “There is no need to thank me, Jim, you are always welcome here – whether you are in orbit or not.”

And Kirk swallowed down the feelings that rose up in him at that with the cold lemonade, savouring the bitter twist of citrus mediated with the sweetness of sugar. “Careful, you keep saying stuff like that I might never leave.”

“That would certainly be no hardship for _me_ ,” Spock Prime returned, taking a seat in a chair across from him, “but tell me, how have you fared since the last time we saw each other face to face?”

Kirk raised an eyebrow at him, trying not to look away from the man’s knowing gaze; somehow, it was always more powerful in person. “Wouldn’t you rather hear about the other you?”

“I find, as I grow older, that I know more than enough about myself as it is,” Spock Prime chuckled softly, but his eyes carried a solemnity that was hard to break away from, “and, at the risk of impropriety, I must say that I was rather looking forward to being the only Spock to monopolize your attention for the next few days.”

“Works for me,” Kirk laughed, keeping his tone light and carefree despite the weight that settled in his chest. The sheer care and affection that this man poured down on him was overwhelming – and it didn’t matter that he wasn’t the right Kirk – wasn’t the one that all this deep regard belonged to – he’d drink it in until he drowned.

* * *

  
Spock was unaccustomed to dreaming.

It was a side effect of sleep and, as a Vulcan, he had found meditation was sufficient enough to meet his needs for rest and repair of bodily function the majority of the time.

He did, however, still require a certain amount of sleep, and with the relatively low risk involved in orbiting _Kar-i-far,_ he saw no reason to abstain from the practice. And, following Dr. McCoy’s decision to spend the remainder of his shore leave on board the _Enterprise_ where he could avoid ‘swallowing sand every time he opened his damn mouth’, Spock was also no longer the only senior official present on the ship; something that further supported his decision to indulge in a full REM cycle.

So, after a full 16 hours of cataloging various projects in order of priority, and ensuring that the bridge crew currently on rotation did not present a threat to either themselves or others through incompetence and a general lack of experience, Spock slipped into his bed, closed his eyes, and dreamed.

They were disjointed, inconsistent things, and when he woke, he could be sure of nothing except that, for some reason, they all involved the Captain; always just out of reach.

It left him with the same feeling he had experienced in the Captain’s quarters after they had returned from the negotiations. Off balance, with no way to rectify it.

Perhaps Nyota could have offered him insight, but she was currently enjoying her stay on the planet’s surface with Lt. Sulu and Ens. Chekov, and the thought of either of the two overhearing his query came with an uncomfortable sensation that he couldn’t quite place. Something similar to nausea, perhaps.

So, he resolved to ask for her opinion once she returned, and in the meantime, resumed meditating instead of sleeping. 

* * *

The Ambassador couldn’t stay with him for the whole visit, busy conferring with the botanists that Kirk had managed to bring him and other matters vital to building a thriving civilization from nothing – so Kirk occupied the time that he had to himself with books and plotting out possible chess strategies to use against Spock Prime when he returned.

He was sitting on the couch, halfway through his latest read when the Ambassador returned home, and Kirk shot him a grin in greeting that quickly faded away when he noticed the look on his face.   
  
“What’s wrong?”

The Ambassador startled slightly at the question, raising an eyebrow at Kirk. “It is rather bold of you to make assumptions about my state of mind before we’ve even had the chance to exchange greetings.”

“ ’S bold of you to assume I need to hear your voice to know something’s up.” Kirk returned, moving his legs off the couch and patting the cushion next to him. “C’mon, sit your bony Vulcan butt down and tell me.”

Spock Prime kept that eyebrow raised but he made his way over to the couch, carefully lowering himself down beside him. “I don’t think you have sufficient data to comment on the state of my posterior, Jim.”

“I’m James Tiberius Kirk,” Kirk pointed a stern finger at him, “trust me, I know when someone’s got a bony ass, and you, my friend, definitely do.”

The corners of the ambassador’s lips twitched before he gave in to a sigh, reaching down into his bag to withdraw a PADD. “I’m afraid this is the source of my concern – the schematic for the new grain we plan to cultivate is being rather problematic.”

“Aw, problem child, huh?” Kirk leant forward, taking in the DNA sequences scrolling past the screen, “can I take a crack at it?”

Spock Prime handed him the PADD. “By all means.”

Kirk looked it over for a few minutes, before isolating a section of the nucleotides. “What if you spliced that section with this?”

He inserted a different strand of DNA and let the simulation run, and sure enough, a green blinking sign reading, VIABLE, popped up at the top of the screen.

“Would that work?” He turned to look at Spock Prime when the only thing that answered him was silence, and his breath caught in his throat at the look the Ambassador was giving him. “Or did I just give the whole population the common cold or something?”

He hadn’t, he knew that, but he still felt relieved when the Ambassador shook his head, a soft smile on his lips. “I had almost allowed myself to forget what a keen intellect you possess, my friend.”

Kirk shot him a cocky grin to cover up the disgustingly mushy feeling threatening to show on his face. “No worries; it’s easy to forget there’s some brains runnin’ this hot bod.”

“For some, perhaps,” Spock Prime took the PADD back from Kirk and returned it to his bag. “Thank you for your assistance, Jim, it was much needed.”

And god, wasn’t it pathetic just how wonderful that made him feel? James Kirk, over the fucking moon because somebody had actually said they needed him.

He shook off the feeling, standing up and making his way over to the chessboard with a grin. “If you’re really grateful, maybe you’d consider throwing tonight’s match?”

“There are limits to my gratitude, my friend,” Spock Prime told him dryly, sliding into the seat opposite his.

Kirk shrugged. “Guess I’ll just have to beat you the old-fashioned way then, old man.”

“As I belief a popular earth-adage of yours goes,” Spock Prime moved his first piece forward, eyes twinkling with that familiar mischief, “you are most certainly welcome to try.”

* * *

Spock had arranged to have dinner with his father on The Captain’s fourth day of shore-leave. Neither of them were looking forward to the encounter, and both of them were aware that his mother would have wanted them to be.

He didn’t change into his civilian attire, keeping his blue science officer shirt – keeping Starfleet and all that it carried with it with him.

The transporter room is quiet when he entered, only one ensign on duty, and he stepped up onto the transporter pad and pretended he doesn’t notice the way her face changed when she spotted his lack of luggage.

“Transport to beam down coordinates, ensign,” Spock told her, raising an eyebrow when she appeared confused by the order.

“Of course, sir.” She hesitated, measuring her words before speaking. “Would that be the general beam down coordinates or the Captain’s coordinates, sir?”

It made sense, upon reflection, that the Captain would have different beam down coordinates when compared to the rest of the crew – no doubt the location of his... _contact_ on the colony. But the information generated that same peculiar off-balance feeling, and the words were leaving his mouth before he could fully register them.

“The Captain’s coordinates, ensign.”

The ensign nodded, as though Spock had simply confirmed what she had originally suspected and not selected the least logical of the two choices presented. “Understood, sir; energizing now.”

The glowing lights of the transport gave way to the house as he manifested before it: well-crafted, worthy of someone of considerable standing. Spock ran through all its different possible owners, and could not create any kind of known connection between them and his Captain.

He didn’t hesitate to cross the distance between himself and the door, ignoring the voice in his mind that reminded him that he was in increasing danger of missing his dinner appointment, instead raising his hand to knock against the door.

The door opened after a few minutes, and though he had calculated the non-insignificant possibility that the person behind it would be the one staring back at him with a non-insignificant amount of shock, marred by a steadily growing dread, it still tugged at his lower abdomen in a way that was entirely atypical.

“Spock?”

“Good evening, Captain.” Spock nodded towards the interior of the house, “May I come in?”


End file.
